


Scars

by myneuronarrative



Category: Maleficent (2014)
Genre: F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Major Character Injury, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-23
Updated: 2016-10-23
Packaged: 2018-08-24 04:34:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,346
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8357401
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/myneuronarrative/pseuds/myneuronarrative
Summary: He may've seen her scars, but all he ever thought about was seeing her fly. Maleficent/Diaval.





	

**DISCLAIMER: I don’t own the rights to _Maleficent_ or any intellectual property by Disney.**

* * *

Even in her earthbound state, Diaval could see Maleficent’s wings. They towered when spread, and they carried her with such divinity. Each feather glimmered with the morning dew and snatched the stars that fell from the night sky. She sat upon her prickled throne, unflinching in her composure, but all he could imagine was the idea of seeing her fly with him.

“What do you think you’re staring at?”

He flinched and then nodded. “My apologies, mistress. I was simply taking notice of—.”

“The Moors?”

“Yes,” he added, uncertain. “Even after Lord knows how many years I’ve spent as a raven, I still haven’t gotten used to seeing nature like this.”

“Then go take a walk.” Maleficent sighed, rising from her throne. “I’m going to do just that. I’ll be at the riverspread.”

As her dress glided down the stone stairs to the riverspread, her ominous gait was interjected by a pained wince after each step. Diaval held his breath, treading behind her. He tried to stay silent, but a tattletale pebble bounced off of a nearby rock. As she turned around, he immediately groped for the right words to say. “Mistress! Umm, sorry for—it’s not like I was—I mean, I’m sorry, I was just—”

“Follow me.”

A cold lilt mingled with the flatness of her words. They continued down their path.

Something Diaval couldn’t comprehend was how beautiful the Moors looked, even in such a beastly state. The flowers spat at him wherever he walked by, but he could still see dapples of color on their delicate petals. The charming willow-pixies, who shone like wisps of starlight whenever you pet them, absconded from the sight of their queen. The river had darkened considerably from the muck and rubble that merged with the stream. However, the fish still swam in buoyant patterns whenever Maleficent laid eyes on them.

Diaval grinned at their animated tricks, and as he did, Maleficent took a deep breath, running her fingers around in catatonic circles. She tugged strings of color to the surface, and a restless current of archaic hues sewed itself into the shallow water.

“I never thought of you being the colorful type,” Diaval said, admiring her work.

Maleficent smirked. “Well, neither did I.”

As Maleficent knelt down and hovered above the water, Diaval’s eyes glazed over the coarse wounds on her back. When he first saw her, he remembered how fleshy they looked, as well as how she couldn’t easily manage the pain whenever she stopped to sob.

“What else can you do?” Diaval asked.

“I could bring the flowers back to life and invite the other creatures to join, but that no longer interests me.”

“The fish still swim here.”

“Well, there’s only so much you can take before the boredom gets to you.”

Diaval knelt beside her. Another impulsive question conjured up: “Why would you be bored when you can control everything here?”

Maleficent’s eyes swelled with pique. She withdrew her hands and looked up at the starless sky. “Unfortunately, you can’t control everything.”

They saw the castle in the distance, amassed in all its loftiness. Surely enough, there would be fanfares and celebrations galore now that Stefan sat on the throne. There was music in the Moors once, but it wasn’t from the tinkering of musical instruments. It was the joyous conversations that flittered around the land. The absence of sweet words proved to be a peaceful lullaby, but not a great morning revelry.

Maleficent turned to Diaval, stoic and unflinching. “Show me your scars.”

“I…beg your pardon?” he queried.

“I’ve told you my story. Now, I wish to hear yours.”

Although an uncharacteristic inquisition of hers, Diaval reluctantly unbuttoned his shirt, feeling the breeze waft over him. As he craned forward to meet her gaze, she examined the intricate scars ingrained into his body. They were inner vines, always growing and ready to flower.

Diaval disengaged, but as he buttoned up his shirt, he said, “I always knew there was a human spirit inside of me, and others did, too. I’ve been beaten and harassed by people from that land many times as if I were a drunkard or a crude peasant. The kings always have an odd belief that ravens are a sign of bad fortune. Either that or you’re just a tasty treat.”

“Hmm. I must’ve forgotten their age-old customs.”

Diaval smirked, humorous yet grim. “Well, lucky you. I wish _I_ could forget. The many times I’ve come too close to the sun is pretty obvious…sometimes, I embrace it, like a badge; sometimes, I hate myself for it.”

“That doesn't explain why you have those scars. You only get bruises from getting beaten.”

“Well, I suppose I— _ow!_ ”

Diaval winced as the color of his hand deepened. Maleficent acknowledged this but didn't expect to see a rusted ring linger on a pile of rocks.

“Stefan’s ring…worthless.” Maleficent shooed it away by snapping her fingers, gently sending it into the water. She looked at Diaval’s hand, seeing the red blotch dwindle from sight. “You’re hurt by iron, too?”

Diaval shrugged. “I suppose so. I’ve landed on hot iron many times before, so I don’t see how it's different now.”

“But you’re not a fairy.”

“But I’ve been exposed to magic before…I’ve seen fairies from other parts of the Moors before you, and they never liked my presence. Sidekick or not, I can’t name a time someone _didn’t_ attack me, no matter their creed!”

“And…here I am,” Maleficent said warily.

“Maybe that’s why I flocked to you the night we met. You just looked like a familiar face.”

Maleficent’s eyes roamed over the serpentine scars on his face. They were bashful in the misty light, but she could see all. Stories of being abused and wanting to abuse surfaced, but one look in those charcoal eyes of his debunked the latter. Diaval’s worst attribute was his numerous transformations, but he never carried a torch within. In the Moon’s lonely path, Maleficent wondered if hers had burned since her parents disappeared, or if the traumatized flicker only came after losing Stefan, as if everything else was unimportant.

Diaval, against his better judgment, let his hand brush over her horns. When she recoiled, his breath skipped. “It's OK. I won’t do anything.”

“Please,” she whispered, caught between pulling away and turning him into a bug that she could step on.

Her horns were raw, and the scales engulfing the crown of her head carried a contradictory glint. He traced his fingers over them, but he withdrew when the discomfort on her face became visible. Then, with childlike admiration: “They’re beautiful.”

She glared at him, but when she saw the authentic kindness in his eyes, she relented. She murmured begrudgingly, “Try not to admire them too much. I wouldn’t want you to steal them, too.”

Even though her voice was chilled, Diaval saw through it. He saw the bleeding, frayed wires jutting out of her back. He saw the cane that stood tall while she leaned against it with a lopsided leer. He saw her flying, but at the same time, he saw her falling from the cliffs with frightening vividness. He cut ties with the visual, refusing to imagine the ending.

“Y’know, I will never understand how a fairy, once so kind and loving, was named Maleficent,” Diaval said with a smile.

“Well, my parents said it rhymed with magnificent, so perhaps that was the reasoning. Magnificent Maleficent—how charming.”

“Yes.  _Very_ charming.”

Without provocation, Maleficent straightened herself. “Please leave me alone right now. I have some thinking to do.”

“I understand,” Diaval said. Before pulling himself up, he noticed how frail and pallid she looked in the dim, silvery reflection of the Moon. He leaned forward and let his lips trace the outline of her cheekbone. Maleficent tensed, fixated on conjuring the river’s colors, but when Diaval left, wordless, she saw a flash of gold from her fingertips mingle with broken pieces of moonlight.

**Author's Note:**

> I feel like I’m at a crossroads with this movie. I mean, I love Angelina Jolie’s performance (as well as Elle Fanning’s performance), and I like the idea of a mother-daughter kind of love being brought to focus. At the same time, however, I hate Sharlto Copley’s performance (as well as the performances of the actresses playing the Three Fairies), and there’s no point trying to make Maleficent a good guy if we loved her for being evil.
> 
> Either way, this is a repost of a Maleficent/Diaval one-shot I had on my original FF.net account. I don’t think the pairing is impossible, especially since Diaval could be like a father to Aurora (and the execs confirmed that they were meant to be a couple in the film), but I don’t see Maleficent being immediately loving towards him. Considering the scene where her wings were ripped off is a metaphorical rape scene, no one would be so trusting with anything as intense as love after going through something like that.
> 
> I hope you enjoyed this one-shot, and I’m gonna go head to bed now.


End file.
